


The Basic Humdrum

by punk_rock_yuppie



Series: Coldwave Week 2016 [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Coldwave Week 2016, Day Two - Domestic Life, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Ridiculousness, The Rogues - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 20:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6254899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“No gunfire, famine, or flies. Just lots of toothpaste, gardening and people stuff.”―Mark Z. Danielewski</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Five times the Rogues got Len and Mick to act like parents, and one time Mick and Len acted like parents just because they wanted to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Basic Humdrum

**Author's Note:**

> day two of coldwave week, domestic life! this was so much fun to write. it turned out fairly different from my original plan but that's for the best, i think. again, major thanks to elrhiarhodan for beta-ing!

**_1_ **

It starts, unsurprisingly, with Hartley.

They’re having dinner together—Len, Mick, Lisa, Mark, Shawna, Axel, and of course Hartley—when it starts.

Len is in the kitchen, turning down the stove before dishing up his own plate. Shawna, Mark, and Axel are squished together on the lumpy couch in their makeshift living room, Lisa having commandeered the single recliner for herself. Mick is standing at the threshold of the kitchen, watching Len with a fond smirk in place. Hartley is the only one disrupting the oddly peaceful atmosphere of the safe house.

He comes crashing into the house ten minutes later than he said he would, and the first thing out of his mouth is a loud swear. Len shoots Mick a long-suffering glance but the latter only chuckles in return. Len waves a hand at Mick, _take care of him_ , and Mick obeys easily.

Len can’t see it but he listens as Mick strolls into the living room. Hartley is still nattering on about something; Len doesn’t really care what so he tunes out the rambling. Or, at least, he _tries_ to tune it out until a particular screech is impossible to ignore:

_“But daddy!”_

Len is dropping the plate in his hands and striding into the living room without even realizing what he’s doing. He’s shoving Mick aside and shoving at Hartley’s chest before anyone else realizes what’s happening. The murmurs in the room dissipate completely and where Hartley looks terrified, the rest of the Rogues look devastatingly amused.

Len growls and pokes an accusing finger against Hartley’s chest. “Do _not_ ever use that word in this house again.” Len scolds. He waits, unrelenting, until Hartley shrinks and nods meekly. Len relaxes once he’s convinced Hartley is reasonably cowed, and then turns his pointing finger to the kitchen. “Go eat your dinner.” Hartley nods again and scurries past; he doesn’t even glare at the others when Lisa and Mark guffaw with laughter.

Len gives Mick another exasperated stare, and Mick only smiles in return.

 

**_2_ **

Mick looks ridiculous in jeans and a loose t-shirt, elbows on the dining room table as he reads the day’s newspaper. Len laughs into his coffee; he’s sitting across the table, reading what are likely the same stories except on his phone rather than on paper. Mick’s never been a fan of new-age cellphones or the death of newsprint, and it’s something Len finds hilariously endearing. Mick looks up briefly and grins at Len, winking, sending a flush through the younger man easily.

Len distracts himself with more sips of coffee and watching Shawna slink into the kitchen.

“Morning!” She greets, bright though with a tired smile in place. “Sleep well?” Her voice is muffled as she digs around in the fridge.

Mick hums something noncommittal but Len responds. “Slept alright. You?”

He can faintly see the line of her shoulders shrug from beyond the fridge door. “Could’ve been better, but, y’know.”

It’s Len’s turn to hum, because he does know. Life of a criminal and all that.

Finally, she pops back up from the fridge and is holding a Tupperware container. “Can I eat this?” She’s looking at Len as she says it and there’s a briefly nervous edge to her tone.

Len raises an eyebrow. “Of course.”

Shawna’s face lights up. “Awesome, thanks!” She appears in front of the silverware drawer, grabs a fork, then vanishes to the living room.

Len shakes his head, drawing Mick’s attention again. Len shrugs but Mick finally speaks. “She better clean up anything she spills out there.” He grumbles.

“I will!” Shawna shouts back, only slightly indignant.

 

**_3_ **

Mick and Len are staring at one another, amused but exhausted. They’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch, curled up in pajamas and the TV in front of them on the softest volume. Len rolls his eyes, rolls his neck and shoulders, trying to wake up a bit. “How late can one person be?” He asks, not really expecting an answer.

“They can’t all take after you.” Mick replies casually.

Len, feeling especially petulant, sticks his tongue out at Mick and earns a middle finger.

The door finally clicks open and Mark’s soft footfalls indicate he full expected no one to be waiting up for him. Len and Mick turn on the couch to look over the back and stare at Mark. He freezes at barely three steps inside. The grin he sports turns from lewd to sheepish. “Uh, hey.”

Len puts on his best unimpressed expression, complete with an artfully raised eyebrow. Mick just looks sour (which might be more because Len had refused to fool around on the couch while they waited, rather than Mark’s tardiness).

Mark quietly closes the door behind him and toes out of his shoes. “Sorry?”

“Where were you?” Mick snaps with a voice that’s more tired than unkind.

Rolling his eyes, Mark replies “what, did I make mom and dad worry?” He scoffs and hangs his jacket on the coat rack by the door.

Len doesn’t say that yes, just a little bit, he was kind of worried—less that Mark was hurt and more that the dumb kid had gotten himself arrested, but still. Mick keeps talking. “You could’ve called. Or texted.” He stands and catches Mark by the arm before the latter can hide away in his bedroom. “Where were you?”

Mark groans but doesn’t try to fight Mick’s grip. “I was seeing this girl! We went to a bar, that’s it.” Mark shrugs. “Didn’t walk her home cuz she was way more interested in some meathead that came in halfway through the date.”

Mick lets go of Mark’s arm. “Sorry, kid.” He grunts, and Len can’t help but laugh. Mick being comforting is always a little bit amusing. Mick flips him the bird again but doesn’t look at Len. “Next time. Call.” He commands.

Mark looks a little guilty when he nods. “Understood.”

“Now go to bed.”

The guilt turns to embarrassment. “Fine.” He snaps and turns away.

Mick faces Len again and shrugs. “How did we get stuck with him again?” Len laughs but doesn’t have an answer. When Mick leans over the back of the couch, Len returns the kiss gently and deeply. “S’your fault.” Mick accuses in between kisses.

Len can’t totally deny that, so he works on distracting Mick instead.

 

**_4_ **

Len stares at the bedroom door—locked and shut, not that that’s much of an obstacle for him—and elbows Mick in the ribs. Mick just shrugs and gestures at the door, silent but expression wildly baffled. Len glares.

Mick is the first to break the silence in a rushed whisper. “You’re the sensitive one.”

Len barks out a laugh, and Mick kind of joins in. “Right, sure.” Len teases. “We both have to do this.” He insists, even if he’s not totally sure was _this_ means. Mick stares at the peeling paint of the door. Len elbows him again. “C’mon, Mick. If nothing else, you need to be there. Don’t even have to say anything.”

Mick eventually nods. Len leans down and makes quick work of the rickety lock. The bedroom door swings open and reveals Axel sitting on his bed, knees drawn to his chest and face hidden in his arms. Len walks in first and Mick shuts the bedroom door behind them again. His crying is quiet, muffled, but heart-wrenching all the same. Len know he and Mick are quite possibly the worst people to be consoling a young man over the death of his father, but, who else is gonna do it? If nothing else, Len remembers losing his mother too vividly, and figures it’s a similar pain.

Mick stands beside the bed, just behind Len who sits on the bed and reaches out. He places a hand on Axel’s arm and it gets the kid to look up, at least. His eyes are red rimmed and his face is blotchy and tear stained. Len chews the inside of his cheek for a while before speaking.

“How are you holding up?”

Axel shrugs with a sniffle.

Len scoots minutely closer. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Axel shakes his head _no_ and Len can respect that.

“How can we help?” Mick asks.

Axel rubs at his eyes, smearing the eyeliner worse than before. He shrugs again and won’t meet their eyes. Len looks up at Mick as though the older man will have an answer.

“I remember when your dad set off some bombs a couple of decades ago.” Mick says as he walks. He pulls at Axel’s shoulder and moves the younger man to sit at the edge of the bed. Mick sits on his other side and keeps his hand on Axel’s shoulder as a comforting weight. “I remember thinking, _damn_ ,” a fond smile passes Mick’s lips and Len realizes this is a true story, not some fable meant to soothe Axel. “Those explosions were something else.”

Axel gives a wet chuckle and one of his hands covers Mick’s. “Of course you liked those. They had _fire_.”

Mick grins. “What can I say, I appreciate fine pyrotechnics.”

Axel’s laugh grows louder. He nods down at the floor, startles only a little when Len moves closer and grips his other shoulder. Axel is still crying, but it’s softer now and his body doesn’t shake with the force of it anymore. When Axel leans against Len, Len lets it happen, even goes so far as to curl his arm around Axel’s back. Mick ruffles the kid’s hair and it garners another laugh.

“You gonna be okay?” Len asks quietly, pleased when Axel nods against him.

“Wanna blow some shit up?” Mick asks soon after, which has Trickster—the one and only, now—perking right up. Mick stands and gestures for Axel to follow. “C’mon, I know a place.”

Len follows them out the bedroom and to the front door, and waves them off from there. He knows there will likely be reports of insane fires that the Flash will rush to put out, but it’ll be worth it when Axel and Mick both come home smiling.

 

**_5_ **

Len stands beside the door, arms crossed and glaring at Lisa. Lisa who is artfully dressed in a draped gown and with just the right amount of make-up applied. Her hair is in a tall and loose bun, the strands not tied up falling in soft ringlets around his face and shoulders. She just grins at Len, sticking her tongue out. “Lighten up, Lenny, I’ll be fine.”

Len’s lips tighten into a thinner line. Mick walks in, beer in hand, and takes in Lisa’s appearance. “Lookin’ good, Lis.”

Lisa does a dramatic curtsy. “Thank you, Mick. See, Lenny? At least someone is a gentleman.”

Len’s glare intensifies.

For Len, it seems like an eternity stretches by the time there’s a knock at the door. Lisa makes an excited noise and moves to answers the door, but Mick holds her back. Len steps up instead and opens the door to reveal none other than Cisco Ramon. He’s dressed just as impeccably as Lisa, a sharp, deep gray tux with fine gold detailing that matches the soft gold and lilac of Lisa’s dress. Len will admit—not aloud, of course—that he’s impressed.

Cisco grins but Len can see the panic. “Uh, hi,” Cisco greets, holding out his hand, “I’m here to pick up Lisa?” It’s all very juvenile, even more so since they’re all over the age of twenty-five, and this is for an art gala rather than _prom_.

Len returns the handshake and steps back to let Cisco inside. He watches, suspect, as Cisco reacts to Lisa’s appearance. He catches the breathless _wow_ Cisco murmurs, and takes pride in his sister’s beauty. “Ramon.”

Cisco jumps at the sound of Len’s voice.

“Oh Lenny, stop being so grumpy.” Lisa cuts across whatever threat he had planned to make. She also pushes past Mick to stand toe to toe with Cisco. “I’ll be home by,” she hums, “two a.m., promise!” She links her fingers with Cisco and ushers him out the door. “Love you, bye!”

Even after the door shuts behind them, Len and Mick can hear Cisco asking, _what was that about? You have a curfew?_

Len smirks and leans into Mick when the older man’s arms wrap around him from behind. “Am I losing my touch?” Len asks.

“Nah, Lis is just all grown up.” Mick counters as he trails kisses along Len’s neck. “Ramon is plenty terrified.” He assures. “Nothing to worry about.”

Len grins and cups the back of Mick’s neck. “We have the house to ourselves until two, at the very least.” He trails off with a dirty grin in place. Mick laughs and his breath is burning hot against Len’s neck.

“While the kids are away…” Mick retorts as he drags Len to their bedroom.

 

**_+1_ **

There’s a Christmas tree in the corner of the room that would make the Griswold’s jealous, and Len has to admit he’s pretty proud of it. It’s thick and a deep green and they had all helped to decorate it. It’s corny as all hell, but it lends a friendly warmth to the room that they’re all somewhat drunk on. Or maybe that’s the eggnog. Probably both. The lights strung around the room are the only source of light allowed right now—per Mick of all people—and the room glows in reds and blues and yellows and greens.

A surprisingly sizable pile of presents is sitting on the coffee table in the middle of the living room, and Hartley has been tasked with handing them out to the appropriate people. Everyone used different wrapping paper, so it’s easier to decide what presents came from who, but it’s still fun.

Len is in Mick’s lap in the single recliner, Lisa is sitting on one arm of the couch and Shawna is on the other. Mark and Axel are on the seats of the couch with a space between them for when Hartley is finally finished passing out gifts. Once the large single stack has been divided into seven smaller piles, the ripping and tearing begins. Len laughs, something light and soft filling his chest in a way that hasn’t happened for years.

Hartley got them all some sort of new tech, and even Mick is appreciative. Axel got everyone two things: a gag gift—ranging from snakes in a can for Shawna to candles you can’t blow out for Mick—and gift cards to each Rogues’ favorite stores. Mark’s gifts are, shockingly, more intimate and individualized: a spa gift card for Lisa and Shawna, the DVD set of that show Hartley was wanting, a digital photoalbum for Axel. Len’s heart lurches as pictures of the Rogues and James Jesse filter by on the tablet, and a hushed moment falls over the room.

Eventually, all the gifts are sifted through until the ones from Mick and Len remain. The rest of the team looks suspicious and it only makes Len’s smile curl ominously. He gestures hurriedly for them to open it and Mick is already shaking with laughter. Lisa is the first to fully unwrap her present and her laughter brings Mick’s to full volume. Shawna and Mark are next and even if they look somewhat disgusted, they’re equally amused. Axel is quiet, but the grin he sports is blinding. Hartley is the only one who looks put out but Len knows it’s an act.

“Well? Put them on.” Len commands as he stands. He leaves the room while the Rogues obey, and when he reenters he has his own on and is tossing one to Mick. “Love ‘em?” Len taunts.

Lisa stands and hauls him into a hug. “You’re insane.”

“Did you guys make these yourselves?” Axel asks as he traces the stitching carefully.

Mick nods; each sweater is personalized to each Rogue, similar only in their hilarity and ugliness. “Cost a pretty penny.”

Len smacks Mick’s shoulder. “What Mick _means_ , is that we’re going to have… a little _family_ outing.” It’s endearing as it is ridiculous the way the other’s faces light up. “Get your gear, we’ve got places to be.” Len, again, motions for the others to scatter.

He’s holstering his cold gun and the living room is empty when Mick speaks again.

“We should do Christmas cards.” Mick is standing with his arms crossed over the front of the sweater, heat gun at his side.

Len almost says no, almost says that’s _too_ ridiculous. But then he thinks the sweaters will probably be destroyed far too fast for his liking, especially when Flash and Vibe inevitably show up to crash the party. “I like how you think.” Len teases, pressing a kiss to the corner of Mick’s mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> I had intended to draw a pic/commission a pic from someone of the Rogues' Christmas card but I ran out of time. Feel free to imagine whatever ridiculous imagery you'd like for everyone's sweaters :)
> 
> i'm also realizing way belatedly that this is aaaalmost more fitting for the parents day of coldwaveweek but i meant for it to read as domestic because it's got these slice of life moments?? i dunno but the prompts are open to interpretation so we'll just agree my interpretation is a little skewed.


End file.
